In the Rich Man's World

She was ready to hand over her disk to Clara the receptionist with a quick smile and then beat a hasty retreat, absolutely determined not to be caught looking anything other than the smart, efficient, business-woman she always portrayed.

‘Amelia!’ Mumbling into the phone receiver she was holding, Clara blew her fringe skywards and gave a grateful smile. ‘Thank goodness you’re here.’

Never had Clara seemed so pleased to see her. More to the point, never had Clara even grunted a greeting—her efficient smile was reserved for real journalists, the ones whose stories actually mattered, not some two-bit freelancer who appeared in the Saturday colour supplement.

‘I’m only ten minutes late,’ Amelia mumbled, pushing the shiny silver disk across the desk and glancing at the clock above Clara’s head, praying it was going faster than her watch. ‘I’m normally on time—I’m usually early…’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Clara said, screwing up her nose as she picked up the disk and, to Amelia’s horror, tossed it into a drawer. ‘Didn’t you hear the news?’

‘News?’ Amelia gave a bewildered blink, cursing herself that the one time in the week she turned off the radio, the one time she let the world disappear to concentrate on a piece, something had really happened.

‘There might be an election! Friday afternoon’s a lousy time to call for a press conference if you ask me, but that’s what’s happened.’

Another bewildered blink from Amelia before excitement started to mount. Images of serious pieces with her name on them drifted into her mind, but before they had even formed Clara easily doused them.

‘Which means all the big names are tied up.’

‘Amelia!’ Paul, her editor, appeared at the lift doors. He handed her a file as he juggled a call on his mobile and his pager bleeped loudly. ‘Carter has had to fly to Canberra…’

‘I heard,’ Amelia replied as Paul decided the call on his mobile was more important. She flicked open the folder he had pressed in her hand for something to do, then caught her breath—not for the first time today, but for an entirely different reason.

Vaughan Mason.

That inscrutable face was actually smiling at her from a black and white photo, but even with the healing balm of a soft-focus lens the slightly cruel twist to his full mouth was still evident. The black eyes stared back unnervingly, a dark jet fringe flopping over one superbly carved eyebrow. His unshaven, heavily shadowed jaw would have been more in place in a sports calendar than on a business shoot, but apart from that his utter supremacy screamed from every pore. Even the glimpse of his suit in the head-and-shoulders shot reeked of abhorrent wealth, and suddenly her horoscope made sense. Suddenly Venus was aligning with Pluto—or was it Uranus?—and the heavenly changes Louis had faithfully promised, no, warned her to be prepared for were really happening.

‘Carter had a fifteen-minute spot with him,’ Paul mouthed as he covered the mouthpiece on his mobile.

‘When?’

‘In twenty minutes’ time. You’re the fill-in.’

‘Me?’

Paul nodded and, possibly realising the urgency of the situation, put his caller on hold. ‘You’ll be great, Amelia, you always are. I don’t know how you do it, but somehow you manage to reel them in, get them to show their true colours, just like you did with Taylor Dean….’ Seeing her paling face, Paul changed tack. ‘As good as Carter is, he’d never have even attempted your angle.’

‘What sort of angle are you looking for?’ Amelia asked, Paul’s insensitive words having hit a very raw nerve.

‘The man behind the millions—what makes his cold heart tick…’

‘Nothing?’ Amelia ventured, but Paul shook his head.

‘We’ve got a big story about to break on him. You could be the perfect lead-in. I’ll suggest that we hold next Saturday’s middle pages for it.’

‘Middle pages…’ Amelia repeated, her face paling. ‘Of the paper, not the…?’

‘The paper,’ Paul confirmed. ‘If you’re sure you’re up to it.’

‘Oh, I’m up to it,’ Amelia responded quickly, with way more confidence than she felt. ‘What sort of story’s about to break? Do you think he’s going to pull off the motor deal?’

‘Oh, it’s bigger than the motor deal,’ Paul responded, unable to stop a small boast, but changing his mind at the last moment. ‘Trust me, Amelia. The less you know, the better—he’s sharp enough to know if you’re fishing for information. Just dazzle him the way you did Taylor…’

‘I’ll have to get changed,’ Amelia broke in, determined not to go there. Glancing down at her jean-clad legs and bare arms, she knew she couldn’t face Vaughan Mason dressed like this. But Paul was already frog-marching her through Reception

‘There isn’t time for all that.’ Paul shook his head firmly. ‘Vaughan Mason won’t be kept waiting—you’ll just have to go as you are.’ His reassuring smile rapidly disappeared as for the first time he took in her dishevelled appearance, giving a rather noticeable frown as he eyed her jeans and sandals. ‘Frankly, Amelia, I expected better from you. Maria would never have—’

‘I had no idea I’d be doing an interview this afternoon,’ Amelia attempted. ‘I only came by to drop off my article.’

‘You’re supposed to expect the unexpected,’ Paul countered, sounding like her wretched horoscope. ‘That’s what journalism is all about.’

And he was right, Amelia conceded through gritted teeth. If it had been any other hour of any other day she’d have been ready—more than ready for the challenge. If only she had listened to her horoscope! If she had she wouldn’t be standing here totally unprepared for the biggest break in her career.

‘I want you to come back to the office after the interview and let me know how it went. I’ve pulled this from Carter’s desk.’ He held out another very thin folder.

‘I thought you said he had something on him?’ Amelia rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me—that’s for Carter’s eyes only. What’s in here?’

‘Facts and figures,’ Paul admitted. ‘Have a quick read on the way—but, Amelia, try not to focus too much on the business side. Work your magic on him, see if you can get him to open up a bit about his family, his personal life…’

‘His women?’ Amelia rolled her eyes again.

Vaughan Mason’s reputation was legendary. Pages and pages of the glossies had been filled over the years with tear-streaked gorgeous faces, broken promises and shattered hearts—seemingly the price for a night in this man’s company. But through all the scandals, through all the revelations, Vaughan had remained tight-lipped, repeatedly refusing to comment. And his lack of excuses, his utter refusal to be drawn or, heaven forbid, to apologise, had only served to make women want him more.

‘I’m hardly likely to get him to open up in a fifteen-minute time slot…’ Amelia started, but a warning look from Paul had her voice trailing off. There was no room for negativity in the cut-throat world of journalism. ‘It will be great, Paul—just great. You’re not going to regret this.’

‘I hope not.’ Paul’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Maria’s going to be devastated that she missed this opportunity.’

Maria.

The one name that said it all. The one word that reminded her of the very temporary nature of her position

She had to get it right.

Had to do as her horoscope said and embrace the opportunity. Had to somehow get noticed. So that next time the sniff of an election was in the air she’d be heading to Canberra, not standing in a humid, muggy Sydney street, attempting to hail a taxi in the middle of Friday-night rush hour and trying to call around and find out Vaughan Mason’s latest value on the stock market.

Meticulous research was Amelia’s forte.

That was how she got celebrities to open up.

Flattery heaped on flattery—it worked every time.

Watching appalling films, reading even worse biographies, seducing stars with her insight! But how was she supposed to woo Vaughan when all her research was being done in the back of taxi hurtling through the city at breakneck speed towards a subject she knew nothing about other than the undeniable ruthlessness of his business dealings that had been reported in the newspapers, coupled with regular romance scandals that found their way into the glossies?

Gulping in the stuffy air, Amelia skimmed the facts and figures neatly typed in the folder in her lap, silently appalled that one man could hold so much wealth and power.

From what she could ascertain not a single cent of his millions strayed from his path. Normally a list of charities appeared in bios, in an attempt to soften the figures and show that there was a warmer side to a ruthless personality. Normally a few family shots appeared, or a snippet of personal information—a small sideline on hobbies or interests—but, thanks to Carter, all the file on Vaughan Mason contained were cold, hard business facts. How he’d built his massive wealth from the ground upwards, how he’d saved flailing businesses over and over, forging a reputation on gut feeling and confidence alone!